


Curse of Ma'at's Temple

by shadowmaat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Egyptology, M/M, Professors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-10-08 04:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/pseuds/shadowmaat
Summary: An Egyptology AU with Obi-Wan and Maul as rival professors who are forced to work together after they are assigned to a mysterious dig in Egypt. Untold challenges await them in the desert, but the biggest challenge of all may be learning how to get along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> Amazing art of Professor Khameir 'Maul' Misuen, gifted by [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker) who has been a tremendous help and encouragement on this and many other projects. You can commission her yourself [here.](https://sl-walker.tumblr.com/post/175991190179/sl-walker-keep-reading)

Professor O.W. “Obi” Kenobi sat in the back of the classroom, arms folded over his chest as he listened to the man at the head of the room lecture his students about Ma’at, the Egyptian deity associated with Truth, Justice, and Cosmic Balance.

The students called him “Professor Maul” behind his back because of his harsh grading policies, but he remained popular despite that. Some people seemed to find the man attractive, which only proved the vagaries of the undergrad mind, as far as Obi was concerned. True, the Dathomiri cultural tattoos on his face were striking, but that didn’t mean the man himself was handsome. His rich voice belied his thin frame and if only he had a clue what he was talking about Obi might find him pleasant to listen to. Almost. He snorted and Professor Misuen stopped mid-sentence and turned to face his audience, most of whom sat up straighter.

“You find something about the desecration of Ma’at’s temples amusing, Professor Kenobi?”

His accent became stronger when he was angry. Obi smiled, waving an idle hand at the whiteboard.

“No, no, do carry on, Khameir. This is all quite fascinating.”

There was a moment of frosty silence in which Obi was certain not a single student in the hall so much as breathed.

“If you find yourself choking again, Professor, please go see a nurse. As I was saying...”

“It’s just that if you had read a few sources outside of Budge you might be aware that-”

“I am well versed in a variety of sources including the original papyri of High Priestess Nakhmaati,” Khameir said, his vowels getting rounder. “I am also well aware of the mystic garbage you ascribe to and I assure you that it has no relevance whatsoever to what I’m teaching!”

Several of the students sitting nearest to Obi shifted in their seats, trying to put more distance between them.

“Mystic garbage?” Obi leaned forward, gripping the back of the empty seat in front of him. “If that’s what you think of it then the Old Kingdom was the wrong choice for your field of study!”

“The only wrong choice I made was not kicking you out of my classroom the moment-”

The tolling of the bell in Lucas Tower interrupted them. Obi forced himself to lean back again and could see Khameir drawing a deep breath as students bolted for the door.

“Remember to read chapters 12 and 13,” Khameir called after them, his voice once more crisp and controlled. “I want a two page essay on the role of maat in everyday life! Typed!”

Obi stood and began walking towards the lectern where his rival in the Egyptology department waited, hands clasped behind his back.

“To what do I owe the extreme displeasure of your visit?” Khameir inclined his head. An errant beam of afternoon sun caught his face, warming his brown skin and making the black hooks and jagged swirls of his tattoos seem to glow.

Not that Obi cared. Although it would be nice to know what the markings meant, just for the sake of knowledge. His fingers twitched, itching to trace those lines. As if that alone would impart understanding. He cleared his throat.

“I received a rather odd call from an old friend last night who asked me to meet him here.”

Khameir arched one elegant brow. “Here? Or did he say out in the hall, and you simply had to blunder into my room like some sort of feral cat?”

Obi grinned. “If you were hoping I’d rub against your ankles I’m afraid you’re in for yet more disappointment, Maul.”

Khameir’s gold-flecked eyes flashed as his face darkened like a storm cloud.

“I am not so deluded as to ever hope something like that, Oberon.”

It was Obi’s turn to glare. He’d managed to forget for a moment that Khameir had learned his real name. Oberon Wann Kenobi, courtesy of his Shakespeare scholar mother and his great-great grandmother’s maiden name on his father’s side. It was why he went by Obi and kept the truth a closely-guarded secret.

The door banged open, startling them both.

“Oh good, you’re both here!”

Quinlan Vos swanned into the room as if he owned it. He still had the shoulder-length dreads Obi remembered from their high school and undergrad days, but his eye-catching colorful wardrobe had been traded for a subdued gray suit.

“Quin you rascal!” Obi opened his arms for a hug only to wheeze as Quin clamped both arms around him, lifted him off the floor, and spun him around before setting him back on his feet. “How’ve you been?”

“Great, great! Can’t complain. Well, I could complain a lot, especially about these funeral duds they have me wearing but, you know, that’s the price you pay for going respectable.”

Obi laughed. “You? Respectable? Never!”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Khameir had drawn himself up to his full height, which was still shorter than Obi. “Some of us actually have work to do.” He collected his briefcase and turned to leave.

“Not so fast, Dr. Misuen.” Quinlan slid into place in front of him, still smiling. “If you wouldn’t mind I could really use some input from both of you on a rather, ah, troubling matter developing in Egypt.”

“My knowledge of Egypt ends with the Middle Kingdom.” Khameir brushed past him, continuing towards the door. “I doubt I can be of any use in _modern_ troubles.”

“The great Professor Maul admitting there’s something he doesn’t know? Will wonders never cease!”

Obi knew he should keep his mouth shut, and judging by the glare Quin shot him he agreed, but the reference to his name still stung.

“A mind as small as yours will wonder at anything,” Khameir fired back.

“We think we found the Hall of Two Truths!” Quin blurted out.

Khameir froze in place. Obi turned to stare at his friend, expecting him to laugh, but Quin’s jaw was set in a grim line.

“Is that some sort of joke?” Khameir turned, glaring at Quin. “The Hall of Two Truths is a _metaphor_. It’s just part of the story of judgement in the Book of the Dead.”

Obi frowned. “Quin, I know you like your pranks, but this is stretching it a bit far, even for you.”

“Does this look like a prank?” Quin pulled a folder out of his pocket and held it out to Khameir, who set down the briefcase and snatched the folder from him.

Curiosity overcame his irritation and Obi moved to stand behind Khameir, watching as he opened it to reveal a sheaf of glossy black and white photos. The first one showed the entrance to a tomb or temple. The pillars were crumbling, but the arching wings of a female figure were unmistakable.

The next photo was a close-up of a wall covered in hieroglyphs. Khameir pulled it closer and Obi leaned on his shoulder, trying to read what was written there. The lighting was terrible and the carvings had faded in places, but it appeared to be a warning against dishonesty and chaos.

“This… doesn’t prove anything,” Khameir said. He didn’t sound convinced, and as he moved on to the next picture he froze again.

Obi’s breath caught in his throat. Another set of doors. Intricately carved with the 42 Negative Confessions and locked with the Great Seal of Ma’at. Khameir flipped it over, but it was the last one in the folder. They both looked up to find Quin watching them.

“Well? Do I have your attention yet?”

“Where is the rest of it?” Khameir demanded.

“Quin, whatever this is, it’s an incredible discovery,” Obi added. “What did you find in the inner chamber?” He caught a whiff of woody resins and stale coffee and realized he was still leaning against Khameir. He took a hasty step away.

“We haven’t been able to access it,” Quin said. “The locks are… complicated, and while we considered the use of explosives-”

Obi clutched his heart and heard Khameir gasp beside him. Quin rolled his eyes.

“We _considered_ the use of explosives, but it was deemed too risky and our radar technician seems to think that the doors are too thick for it to do much good.”

“Who is this _we?”_ Obi asked, resisting the temptation to snatch the file from Khameir’s hands and look at the photos again. “I never thought you had any interest in archaeology.”

“If you aren’t looking for translations of the tomb’s content then why are you here?” Khameir asked.

Quin raised his hands. “I’ll be happy to answer all your questions. Just not here.”

Obi glanced at Khameir to find him looking back. They nodded. Some things were more important than personal hostilities.

“Where are we going?”

Quinlan grinned. “I know just the place…”


	2. Chapter 2

It was easily one of the most ridiculous stories Khameir had ever heard. A lost temple uncovered by a sandstorm, researchers dying when their hearts exploded, a mysterious creature stalking the dunes, and of course an epic pissing contest between the US and Egyptian governments over whose claim was more valid. It sounded like a tawdry adventure concocted by Hollywood and Quinlan Vos, the man who’d tried to sell them on this fantasy, hardly seemed like a reputable source. After all, he was an old friend of Kenobi’s. And if that wasn’t enough he also claimed to be an agent for a government organization Khameir had never heard of.

Kenobi, of course, swallowed it all down with a look of absolute wonder in his grey eyes. How the man had survived this long in the real world was an unending mystery. He was impulsive, gullible, and had the manners of an American. He also apparently loved the sound of his own voice and never missed an opportunity to open his mouth and blurt out whatever inane thing crossed his mind.

Students seemed to love him, which was yet more proof of the fickleness of undergrad minds. Of course they also seemed to think he was a red-head when his hair was clearly brown. Sure, maybe in certain specific lighting conditions, with the afternoon sun catching him just right and making his hair seem to glow, but- He shook his head. Why in hells was he letting his mind natter on about the damnable Kenobi when there was the far more important question of what to do next that he should be considering?

Yes, it was clear that Vos was spinning them a fantastical tale, but those photos hadn’t been faked. As much as he hated agreeing with Kenobi, the man had managed to say something intelligent: whatever this find was, it was still an incredible discovery. And they had the opportunity to go and see it in person. Vos seemed to think that between the two of them they’d be able to decipher the riddles guarding the inner chamber and gain access to whatever mysteries lay within. Assuming they hadn’t already been plundered centuries earlier. Something told him, however, that this wasn’t the case. The only downside was that Vos insisted it had to be both of them. Together.

“Why?” He’d demanded.

“I’m in.” Kenobi slapped the table. They were seated at a booth in a small diner that brought new meaning to the term “greasy spoon.”

“You are two of the greatest minds focused on Ancient Egypt right now,” Vos said. “And your particular disciplines balance you.”

Khameir frowned at that, but didn’t say anything.

“With the two of you working together I doubt there’s anything the temple can throw at you that you can’t solve.”

“Professor- I mean Khameir,” Kenobi corrected, stretching his arms across the table to grasp his hand. “I know we’ve had our differences, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! They want to send us to Egypt! And we won’t have to worry about all the red tape and paperwork for the excavation!” 

His eyes were brighter, almost more blue than grey.

“We could be the first ones to set foot in Ma’at’s temple since the days her worshipers walked the earth!”

Khameir looked down at their joined hands and carefully pulled free, heart hammering. His earliest days had been spent out in the field and his experiences had nearly killed him multiple times, but now… Maybe now it would be better. And Kenobi was right; he couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this.

“What about our- my- classes?”

Kenobi and Vos both smiled at him. He hated it.

“It’s already being handled with the administrators,” Vos said. “Substitutes are being found. And you shouldn’t be gone for much more than a week, so it won’t be too much of an interruption.”

A week? To decipher the keys to the entrance and explore whatever lay within? The prospect was daunting. And a little disheartening. Even if they did manage to find a way to the inner chamber they’d barely have time to scratch the surface! Maybe they’d at least be kept in the loop on whatever was discovered.

“I’ll have to speak to my TA, Issa, and let her know what’s happening. When would you expect us to leave?”

“Ah, right, I should call Rana and warn her as well,” Kenobi said.

“Don’t worry, they’re being notified as well,” Vos said as he paid their bill. “There are cars on the way to take you to your apartments so you can pack. Your plane leaves in two hours.”

“What?!” Khameir said, hearing Kenobi echo him.

“Move along, gentlemen.” Vos stood, gesturing towards the door. Two cars were idling outside.

“My books, my papers,” Kenobi muttered. “I can’t possibly… Quin, what the hell?”

Khameir frowned. “Why such a rush? What aren’t you telling us?”

“Tick-tock.” Vos tapped his wrist. “The more you argue with me, the less time you have to pack. See you on the plane!”

He headed for the door. Kenobi was close behind, demanding answers from his friend. Khameir followed along, happy to let him do all the talking. He was liking this situation less and less, but… not enough to refuse. Not yet.

He headed for the first car and gave the driver his address, using the ride to try and put his thoughts in order. Nothing about this situation felt right or aboveboard, least of all the supposed interest of the US government in the temple of a forgotten goddess. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been sent into a trap, however. At least this time he’d be allowed to prepare for it. What had his old master said? Better to spring the trap than have it snap your neck?

He still had his old go bag stuffed in a corner of his closet. He swapped out a few things, added a few more, and then packed a separate bag with all of his books and notes on Ma’at with a few translation guides thrown in for good measure. Once he was sure he had everything together, he called Issa.

“A vacation? Now?”

“I know it’s inconvenient but-”

“Did someone die? Are  _ you _ dying?”

The note of concern in her voice surprised him, though he realized he should have expected it. She’d all but attached herself to him when she’d been a wide-eyed freshman and once he realized she was serious he’d taken her under his wing and taught her everything he could. It wouldn’t be long before she surpassed him and struck out on her own.

“I’m fine, Issa, I promise. It’s just that a- a research opportunity has come up that I can’t resist.” The urge to tell her about it was almost overwhelming. If anyone could understand, it’d be her. “I shouldn’t be gone for more than a week. You have a copy of the syllabus, so I leave everything in your capable hands.”

“And you’re  _ sure _ you aren’t dying?” 

He smiled into the phone. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she said, still sounding unconvinced. “Be careful. And have fun, I guess.”

“I’ll try,” he said. And then some impulse made him add “Although given that I’m stuck with Kenobi for the duration, ‘fun’ may be overstating it.”

“You’re with  _ Professor Can-bone-me?” _

He blinked at the moniker and heard a sharp intake of breath followed by muted swearing.

“I’m so,  _ so _ sorry, Professor,” she said. “I didn’t mean- I mean, that’s just what some of the students call him. I know you two don’t get along, uh, sorry. That must be… Wow.”

“It’s alright, Issa,” he said, still contemplating the nickname. It wasn’t one he’d heard before, but somehow it didn’t surprise him Kenobi had earned it. “I’ll expect a full report on everything when I get back, yes?”

“You’ve got it, Boss. And, uh…” An odd note crept into her voice. “Good luck with Professor Kenobi.”

“Thank you.” 

He hung up, deciding not to speculate on what she’d meant by that.

The car was still waiting for him as he exited his building. The driver was still little more than a shape behind the wheel as both the windows and the interior partition were darkened. The level of secrecy surrounding this “assignment” was excessive to the point of parody. It gave him bad flashbacks to his childhood, but he was determined to see this through. If the carvings in the photographs Vos had taunted them with were true, then this find would be everything beyond his wildest dreams. Still, being curious didn’t mean he couldn’t be cautious, too. That was another painful lesson learned from his younger days.

When they arrived at the airport they were directed straight out to the tarmac, where Khameir could see an aircraft idling. He couldn’t recognize the model, but it gave off a very military feel. As he stepped out of the car a second vehicle rolled to a stop and Kenobi all but bounced out of the back, dropping his coat and a couple of books in the process.

“Damn,” he said. “Could you get those for me?”

“No.”

Shouldering his own bags, Khameir walked up the rolling stairs and boarded the plane, the sound of Kenobi’s swearing muffled by the double prop engines.

The interior was less militaristic than he expected, but not by much. The plane was clearly more of a cargo hauler, but some effort had been put into making the seating along the sides look comfortable. Quinlan Vos was already lounging in one of the seats, a drink in his hand.

“Oh good, you made it.”

“Of course we did!” Kenobi answered, crowding behind Khameir.

“Never doubted you for a moment, Obi.” Vos flashed him a smile. “Would either of you care for drinks?”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Khameir moved out of the way and took a seat.

“What I’d care for are answers,” he said.

“Whiskey.” Kenobi gave him a sidelong look, choosing a seat closer to Vos. “We do have something to celebrate, after all.”

“That’s the spirit!” Vos opened a compartment that contained several bottles and glasses. He selected one, filled a glass, and handed it to Kenobi. 

“Celebrating before you have all the facts? How very like you.”

Khameir settled his bags on the seat beside him and dug through one to find a particular notebook to peruse. He didn’t miss the rude gesture Kenobi aimed his way, but chose to ignore it.

“You’ll have to forgive Khameir,” Kenobi said. “He’s just as dry and stuffy as the mummies he likes to talk about.”

Vos laughed. “He has a point, Obi. That’s why I brought this.”

He looked up as Vos pulled something from the leather satchel between his feet. Two bound copies of what appeared to be a lengthy typewritten document. One was handed to Kenobi and Khameir leaned forward to accept the other. The document was titled “The Regenfeld Incident.”

Regenfeld, he knew, was a area within the Great Sand Sea, so at least it gave him a hint of where they were headed. Though he wouldn’t have thought there’d be any significant finds out there. Maybe that was the point.

“This contains absolutely everything we know about the discovery of the ruins, our initial investigations, and what seemed to happen as a result.” Vos stood, picking up his satchel as the engines revved into a higher gear. “Everything you need should be in there.”

“Where are you going?” Khameir demanded as Vos headed for the door.

“Quin?” Kenobi had the document open, but was frowning at his friend. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

“Sorry, Obi.” Vos turned to grin at him. “Due to a slight misunderstanding I’m not allowed to leave American soil.”

A soldier appeared from the direction of the cockpit. Vos stepped out onto the rolling stairway.

Khameir stood. “You promised us some answers!”

“And I gave them to you!” Vos gestured at the document he was still clutching in his hand. “Trust me, you’ll appreciate a little light reading for your flight to Djara!”

“Trust you? Why the hell should I trust-”

The soldier pulled the door closed and spun the lock.

“Return to your seat, sir,” he said. “We’re about to take off.”

Jaw clenched, Khameir did as he was told, glaring at Kenobi.

“This is all your fault,” he said, fastening his seatbelt as the plane lurched into motion.

Kenobi’s eyes widened. “Me? I don’t recall inviting you to come along!”

“Someone has to be there to stop you from blundering your way around the dig and destroying everything you touch.”

“I do not blunder!”

“Oh yes, you were the picture of poise out there as you spilled half your belongings on the tarmac.” He pointedly opened the booklet Vos had given him and started reading.

“I was  _ excited!” _ Kenobi sniffed. “I wouldn’t expect  _ you _ to understand that. You’ve probably never been excited in your entire life! It’s too  _ unrefined.” _

“If being refined is the worst insult you can throw at me, then I’ll gladly take it.” He turned a page. He could almost feel Kenobi fuming in the seat across from him. This was going to be a long flight.


	3. Chapter 3

Obi glared at Khameir, who was reading- or pretending to read- the missive Quin had dumped on them before bailing ship. He was frustrated, to say the least. He’d been planning on Quin’s presence to help even the odds a bit. Not that he  _ needed _ backup to deal with someone like Khameir, of course, but, well, it would have been nice. Just as it would have been nice to have an actual trusted source to refer to for information rather than a bunch of damned paper.

Khameir had actually been visibly upset about Quin’s abrupt departure. Obi had half expected him to follow Quin out of the plane, and frankly he’d been tempted to do a bit of yelling himself. On reflection, the move was pure Quinlan Vos, and it reminded him why they’d lost touch over the years since boarding school.

Now, it seemed he was going to be trapped on a refurbished cargo plane for nearly  _ fourteen hours _ with no one to talk to but Khameir “I’m Smarter Than You” Misuen. He swigged the rest of his whiskey and glared down at the “Classified: Eyes Only” document’s index. The Listing for “Deaths” caught his eye so he decided to read that part first.

Contrary to Khameir’s condescending comments about the “mystic garbage” he covered in some of his classes, there were limits to the things Obi believed and curses were not one of them. As he looked at photos of two soldiers with holes where their hearts should be he found himself wondering how it was done. As Quin had said earlier, it looked like the hearts had literally exploded out of their chests, but that was impossible. Even with his limited medical knowledge he was pretty sure a heart couldn’t explode with enough force to shatter the ribcage. The possibilities he ran through were already mentioned and dismissed in the paper, including a few things he hadn’t considered that left him vaguely nauseous. He flipped to another section instead.

“Hey, did you see this?”

“Thankfully, I can’t see through your eyes, so no, I did not.” Khameir looked up. At some point he’d put on a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. They brought out the gold in his eyes. “To what are you referring?”

Obi rolled his eyes at his overly-formal English. “Chapter Four. It has pictures of some of the writing they found. More than what Quin showed us.”

Khameir licked a finger and flipped pages, presumably to Chapter Four.

“Hmm. It seems to pertain to the judgement of those who would enter.”

Obi was absolutely not thinking about the missing hearts or how Ma’at weighed the hearts of the dead against a feather to determine their fate. He rubbed his chest.

“Yes, but did you notice the figurine of Ma’at?”

Khameir frowned. “She’s facing the wrong way.”

“She is.” He grinned. “Think our predecessors moved things around? Or did they miss something?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Khameir arched a brow, stretching the tattoo over his eye.

His reply was cut off when the door to cockpit banged open and one of the soldiers stalked out. He made a show of checking the shelves at the front of the plane before grabbing a couple of packets and heading towards them. 

“Here’s dinner, sir,” he said, handing Obi a sealed ration pack. “Make sure that  _ Nightbrother _ doesn’t steal everything,” he added, lip curling as he turned to sneer at Khameir. “I’ll be checking.”

Obi stiffened in shock. “What?!”

Khameir’s expression was carefully blank, his eyes averted as the soldier stomped past him, lunging at one point in an attempt to make him flinch. Khameir didn’t move, but Obi was out of his seat.

“How dare you! Dr. Misuen is a respected academic! Apologize at once!”

“Kenobi, don’t,” Khameir hissed.

The soldier turned, one hand resting on his sidearm. Obi froze.

“I might have to put up with that Nightbrother  _ filth _ on my bird,” the soldier said, “but there’s nothing in the regs that says I have to be  _ nice _ .” 

He managed, barely, not to recoil from the acid in that word.

“Everyone knows what their kind is capable of.” The soldier’s smile was a knife-edge. “Fortunately, I know just how to handle it.” He patted his holster.

Khameir’s expression had gone stony… and familiar. It was how he often looked whenever Obi traded barbs with him. It was… not a good feeling to see it now.

“That isn’t-”

The cockpit door opened again and someone leaned out.

“Tarkin! Get back here!”

The soldier, Tarkin, wrinkled his nose.

“Sorry, sir! Thought I smelled something bad back here!”

Obi could see a muscle in Khameir’s jaw twitch, but before he could say anything, Tarkin jabbed a finger at him.

“You wake up with your throat slit and your wallet missing, don’t come crying to me!” He pivoted and marched back to the cockpit, the door slamming shut behind him.

Obi released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I am so sorry about that, Khameir. That kind of racism is-”

“Expected.” Khameir finally looked up, meeting his eye. “I’m used to it, Kenobi, and in my experience it’s better not to engage. Especially when you’re thirty thousand feet in the air and surrounded by men with guns.”

There wasn’t really a good way to answer that, so Obi cleared his throat.

“I, ah, can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to have been provided with dinner. I’d be happy to share mine.”

Khameir rubbed his temples. “I am too tired for your games right now, Kenobi, and I seem to have lost my appetite, anyway. Thank you anyway.”

“It isn’t a-” Obi clamped his mouth shut. He’d deserved that. “Yes, well, if you change your mind, I’ll be sure to save some of the-” He glanced at the label. “The pork and beans for you. Oh dear. Perhaps I should have asked the driver to stop somewhere first.”

Khameir was reading again and didn’t react to his attempted joke. Obi sat down closer to him this time and tried to eat his rations. They tasted even worse than they looked, which was saying something. He saved aside the crackers and water for later and tried to get back to his own reading, but his heart was no longer in it. He wondered if he could check the shelves at the front of the plane for more food… and if Khameir would take the blame if he took anything.

Like most nomadic cultures, the Dathomiri were looked on with revulsion and suspicion; accusations of thieving were common, as were rumors that they stole children or performed Satanic rituals. Obi had always dismissed it as the nonsense it so clearly was. It had somehow never occurred to him that people still thought that way, or that they’d say so out loud. He stared longingly at the hidden drinks cabinet across from him, but didn’t give in to the temptation to pour another glass of whiskey. This trip was going to be rough enough without adding more alcohol into the mix.

Beside him Khameir chewed on his lip as he read something. How anyone could look at him and think he was a thief or a baby-snatcher was beyond Obi’s ability to comprehend. Sure, the tattoos were a little startling, but he was dressed in a well-cut navy jacket with matching slacks and the puff of his ridiculous cravat showed around the neck. He didn’t look suspicious, he looked refined. As always. It was one of the many small things Obi had always found irritating about him. Now he wondered if there was more to it than showing off how perfect and fussy he was.

At some point he heard the crinkle of a wrapper and looked up to see Khameir eating a granola bar, his backpack open beside him. Obi was glad he at least had something to sustain him, even if it wasn’t a proper meal. Of course, given the way he could feel the pork and beans still sitting in his stomach like lead weights, maybe granola would have been the better option.

“There’s something else worth noting, here.” Khameir held up the booklet, pointing at the page he was on.

Obi moved to sit beside him, studying an observation made by one of the previous archaeologists.

“Huh. How in the world could he have mistranslated it that badly?”

Khameir glanced at him and they shared a quick smile before picking apart where Dr. Drake had gone wrong and working out what they could do once they arrived. He found himself on the verge of sarcasm multiple times, but managed to rein in the urge. He noticed Khameir side-eyeing him a few times, too, but did his best to ignore it.

The flight was long and uneventful. After the sun set there was nothing to see out the windows (although clouds and ocean hadn’t been an inspiring landscape, anyway) and the dim interior lighting made reading difficult. The drone of the engines eventually lulled Obi to sleep. 

Turbulence shook him awake near dawn. His neck was pure agony, but at least the side of his face was warm. He wrenched upright, wincing at the spasm that shot down his spine as he realized  _ why _ his face was warm. 

Khameir slept on, head tilted to one side and oblivious to the fact that Obi had been using his arm as a pillow. Thank the Mercies for small favors. He swept his hair back, straightened his lapels, and did his best to look alert.

It proved to be just in time, too, as the cockpit door opened to reveal a different soldier than Tarkin. Khameir’s eyes opened and he straightened, wariness all but radiating off of him as the soldier approached. This one, at least, had brought two meal packets along with two cups of lukewarm black coffee. He didn’t say a word as he handed them over and retreated back the way he’d come.

“I hope we’ll be able to find some decent food once we land,” Obi said, regarding the powdered egg mix with suspicion. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, now.”

“Decent food and a US military operation are not what I’d consider a likely combination,” Khameir said, dribbling water into his own powder. “But a genuinely hot meal and a nice cup of tea would not go amiss.”

Obi raised his paper cup in salute and then downed its contents with a grimace. This was not an auspicious start to the day, but at least things were bound to improve once they reached the dig. That’s when the real work would begin. And who knew, maybe having Khameir with him would be a good thing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know modern MREs can be pretty fancy with their self-heating mechanisms and whatnot, but these aren't _that_ modern and even if they were I'm not sure the soldiers would waste them on their current passengers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, this thing updates slower than molasses, but it IS going to keep updating. Slowly. And now that they're in Egypt, the strangeness can begin.

They landed without issue on the single sand-strewn runway. Tents and trailers were clustered at one end and the militaristic feeling only increased. Khamier’s shoulders tensed, and he made sure to keep his hands visible as he hefted his bags and followed Kenobi out of the plane.

The sun was dazzling, reminding him that in his rush he’d forgotten to grab his sunglasses. His go bag should have an old pair, if they hadn’t been crushed over the years, but now wasn’t the time to stop and find them. Kenobi was all but bouncing down the stairway, eager to get a start on their new adventure. His energy was exhausting, but if it meant people stayed focused on him then Khameir was glad. The confrontation in the plane had rattled him. Racism was part of his daily life, but it had been a few years since he’d been actively threatened.

“Professors?”

There was a man in worn khaki fatigues waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. He had brown skin and his eyes were shaded by his cap, but as Khameir got closer he could see the shadow of a jagged scar hooking under the brim.

“I’m Captain Fett. I’ve been asked to drive you out to the site.”

“Thank you, Captain Fett.” Kenobi reached out, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m Professor Kenobi and this is Professor Misuen and we are delighted to be here!”

Captain Fett squinted up at the sun and then glanced at the small camp. “Well, that makes two of you, then.”

Khameir smiled. Kenobi chuckled, shading his eyes as he looked around. “Yes, I suppose the desert setting isn’t for everyone, though it does have its attractions.”

Captain Fett cocked an eyebrow at Khameir as Kenobi peered at the horizon. Khameir rolled his eyes.

“I’ll take your word for it, sir,” Captain Fett said.

“Call me Obi, please.” Kenobi focused on the Captain again. “And while we’re both eager to get out to the site, is there any chance we could grab some showers first? Or at least a changing room so we can better dress for the weather?” He tugged at his button-down shirt, which was already plastering itself to his skin.

“Of course, sirs. Follow me.”

Khameir opted for a quick rinse in the lukewarm water of the outside showers, mostly to wash off the bad feeling left over from the plane ride. He dressed in loose linen trousers, a loose shirt, and a sand-colored robe that would at least provide some protection from the sand and the sun.

Kenobi was still humming in the neighboring stall when he exited, so he stopped to assess his surroundings. The soldiers ignored him, for which he was grateful. They were predominantly white, though a few had darker skin like Captain Fett and there were numerous natives scuttling about performing menial chores. One older man with an impressive white beard and faded but colorful robes leaned against the shaded side of one of the trailers. He had a small pushcart with him with a handwritten sign that read “Sandwich” in English and “Hawawshi” in Arabic.

Stomach gurgling, he made his way over to the vendor, catching a whiff of spiced meat and onions.

<<Hello, friend,>> he greeted in what he hoped was a passable dialect. <<I hope the day is treating you well.>>

The vendor laughed, slapping his knee. “It was treating me well until I heard that! You sound older than I am!”

He spoke in heavily accented English, so Khameir switched back, dipping his head in acknowledgement.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a few years since I’ve been in your lands and most of my studies concentrated on the Age of the Gods.”

The vendor grinned. “Back when I was Young Abdul, then.”

They chatted amiably for a few minutes, a custom Khameir slipped back into with ease. The vendor, who insisted on being called “Old Abdul” was curious about the “foreign scholars” that the military had brought in. Khameir managed to avoid confirming anything while still being truthful, which seemed to amuse him.

“Ah, but surely you didn’t come over here simply to keep an old man company. What is it that brings you to Old Abdul’s humble cart?”

“I was hoping you might have some hawawshi left for a hungry traveler.”

Old Abdul opened the cover over the griddle, releasing a cloud of steam. Khameir’s mouth watered.

“Well, well! It seems I have just enough for two more!” Old Abdul’s dark eyes gleamed. “Should that be enough for you? And perhaps your pale friend?”

“It should be just enough, yes.” Khameir smiled, not bothering to correct the “pale friend” comment. “Of course, if you were saving them for yourself…”

“Pfah!” Old Abdul waved a hand in dismissal. “For my new friend, it is a sacrifice I am willing to make. Besides,” he added, “it has been far too long since I have seen one of the noble Night Travelers pass this way.” He touched his forehead and Khameir returned the gesture, surprised by the warmth in his words.

“Thank you. I was taken from my people at a very young age, but perhaps some day I’ll find them again.” He frowned, wondering why he’d shared that particular bit of information. It wasn’t something he ever spoke about, if he could avoid it.

Old Abdul nodded, stroking his beard. “Yes, you’ve been traveling alone for quite a while now, haven’t you? But now you are here! And you have met Old Abdul! Soon your belly will be full of excellent food and the future will look very different, eh?”

“One can only hope.” 

“Ha! So careful with your words!” 

Old Abdul was already frying up the meat and vegetable-filled pitas. The spices burned up Khameir’s nose and made his stomach gurgle. He shifted his bag, trying to remember where he’d left his money. There might be coinage left over from his last foray to Egypt as a teen, but if the vendor had come so far out to sell to Americans, he probably accepted American currency, too.

“I’ll make you a special deal,” Old Abdul said, sliding one hawawshi onto some newsprint and wrapping it up. “You save your money for a special someone and instead you answer a riddle that has been bothering Old Abdul.”

Frowning, Khameir regarded the vendor as he finished and wrapped the second hawawshi. “That doesn’t seem like a very good deal for you,” he said, cautious.

“Ahh, but knowledge is a currency that is accepted everywhere, is it not?”

His instincts prickled, but if the “riddle” proved to be something he wasn’t willing to answer, he could always offer money instead. Or just walk away. He was hungry, but not  _ that _ hungry.

“I’m not sure how good my answer will be, but I can at least listen,” he said.

Eyes dancing, Old Abdul waved his hand. “Yes, yes. Very well, my cautious friend. Now, tell me, please: if one man walks the night-touched path and another man walks the path of the sun, who will be strongest at the crossing of ways?”

Khameir stared. It had elements of a traditional riddle, but it felt oddly weighted and there was no obvious answer that he could see.

Old Abdul placed the hawawshi in the warmer and waited, hands tucked behind him as the sleeves of his robe drooped like wings.

Night and Day were obvious enough and they could be considered “crossing” at dusk and dawn, but he wasn’t sure what “strength” could imply since- He smiled as it clicked into place.

“Neither,” he said. “Each is equal in his own way and they remain in balance when their paths cross.”

Old Abdul clapped his hands, the sound seeming to reverberate through the small camp. “Yes! That is it! Ha! I knew someone who follows the Old Gods would be able to tell me the answer!” He pulled the hawawshi back out of the warmer and handed them over.

“Thank you.” He hesitated. “Are you sure I can’t-”

“Bah! Go on with you!” Old Abdul made a shooing gesture. “Stop bothering an old man!”

He bowed his head in defeat, but still dug a handful of mixed coins from his pack.

“I doubt you’re as old as you like to pretend, my friend, but perhaps Thoth here will accept a humble offering.”

What he’d assumed was a simple rock to hold the napkins in place turned out to be a small carving of the Egyptian god of Wisdom. He placed the coins beside the idol and touched his fingers to his lips in a gesture half-remembered from his childhood.

“Thank you, honored elder.” It was said partly to Thoth and partly to Old Abdul, whose smile could be seen through his beard. “May the sands clear obstacles from your path.”

Old Abdul snorted. “I have a feeling the sands will reveal many interesting things. May you have the wisdom to recognize a good thing when you see it. Such as my hawawshi!”

They shared a laugh and Khameir departed with a final bow. He hadn’t gone far before a gust of wind caused his robe to flare and then he had to stop short or crash into Kenobi.

“There you are!” Kenobi said. “We’ve been looking everywhere-” he broke off.

“My apologies,” Khameir said. “I got a little sidetracked procuring some breakfast. Lunch?” He was too tired to figure out the time. He held out one of the wrapped packets to Kenobi, who was staring at him. “Is something wrong?”

“Hmm?” Kenobi blinked. “Oh. Yes, thank you.” He accepted the packet. “That is, ah, quite the look for you.”

Khameir tensed, unsure if it was a compliment or insult. Kenobi’s skin was a fiery red, and if the man hadn’t remembered to put on lotion he was going to be very sorry later.

“It’s a bit wrinkled from being in my bag for too long, but it’s comfortable.” He eyed Kenobi’s short-sleeve shirt and multi-pocketed pants. Several buttons were undone on the shirt, revealing a thatch of gingery hair. He wasn’t sure who it was meant to impress, unless it was some kind of default setting.

“Yes, it- Yes.”

Before he could ask what was wrong, Captain Fett jogged up. “Professor Misuen! Where were you?”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Khameir said. “I was having a talk with Old Abdul and must have lost track of time.”

“Old who?” Captain Fett frowned.

“Old Abdul? The hawaw- the sandwich cart vendor.” He turned, gesturing back the way he’d come, but it seemed the cart had already moved on. “Ah. Well. He was there a moment ago.”

“There aren’t any sandwich cart vendors that I know about.” The Captain was still frowning. “I’ll have to report that. But right now, we’re running late. Let’s get loaded up and go.”

He filed that away for later consideration and followed the Captain to a waiting jeep. Kenobi, for once, trailed behind them, but with the front passenger seat of the jeep missing it meant they were both going to be crammed into the back. Sighing, he settled onto one side of the bench seat and unwrapped his hawawshi. The first bite numbed his whole mouth and he closed his eyes in pleasure. Maybe this venture wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I got anything grievously wrong or offensive, feel free to drop me a note on tumblr and I'll take steps to correct it.   
> From what I've read I think hawawshi are traditionally baked, but a griddle worked better for me in this situation.

**Author's Note:**

> Khameir's last name is sourced from [StarWarsRPNet's](http://starwarsrp.net/topic/3233-paecean-dictionary/) Paecean Dictionary by Satara Hawk, which is as close as I could get to ANY kind of viable glossary for Dathomiri. 
> 
> Misu (pronounced mee-suen) translates to "younger brother" and the reason for Khameir using it will be revealed later.


End file.
